


what happens in vegas

by theredhoodie



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone Is Gay, Las Vegas, M/M, Mutual Pining, Thomas has a lot of ANXIETY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredhoodie/pseuds/theredhoodie
Summary: It's the last spring break before graduation and Minho drags The Gladers to Vegas, where the streets are lined with sex worker business cards and Thomas has to finally face his five year crush on Gally.





	what happens in vegas

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up 3 years late with Starbucks*  
> Ahem, so in all honestly I started this three years ago or smth (before TST) and finally decided to pull this out and finish it after TDC both killed me and gave me life. Hope you like the shenanigans. Everyone is gay. They’re in Vegas. It gets really domestic and adorable near the end. Enjoy.
> 
> Let's play a game of how many times "fuck" is used in this fic. (Hint: 43 times.)

The Strip was bright and loud and most of the time only hurt Thomas's eyes and ears. So he poured drinks down his throat, underage by a few months but not really caring. No one in Sin City cared as long as bartenders didn't serve twelve year olds.

No one took a second glance at the rowdy group of all boys, early-twenties, as they romped about the city, high on testosterone and gallon sized drinks that hung around your neck. They'd gotten there in the morning, too big for one cab so they rented an entire shuttle from the airport to the Caesar Hotel. It was well into the night now, and most of their money was gone.

The Gladers, that's what they were. From meeting at their all-boys high school, they’d bonded over lacrosse, becoming The Gladers and never falling apart. Most of them went to the same college, with only Newt and Thomas going to MIT instead of Georgetown. Thomas hadn't seen The Gladers in six months. The last time they'd gotten together, Gally'd been home, dealing with the death of his grandfather.

It'd been a year since he'd seen Gally.

He tried to act nonchalant, but as the night went on and his body got looser and drunker, it was hard to keep his eyes from settling on the tallest of the Gladers. Short dark blonde hair, toned and tall, he could probably take Thomas easily in a fight. Thomas had always been known more for his speed than strength on the field.

Minho startled Thomas out of his stalkerish staring, clamping a heavy hand down on his shoulder and flopping down on the hard couch. Minho with his supermodel hair and wide shoulders: the perfect Glader captain. Even tonight had all been his doing. A spring break in Vegas...why the fuck not?

"Should I book you a trip to the Chippendales tomorrow?" he chuckled, talking loudly but leaning closer to Thomas to try to be sly.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Wasn't that already on the plan, buddy?"

"Yeah, but on the last day," Minho waved his hand around as the others—Newt, Frypan, Gally, Alby—drank out of multiple glasses and thrashed around to the music playing.

Thomas threw his head back laughing, clinging to his neon blue drink. "How're we gonna make it to Thursday? We blew all our money tonight." In his head that's how his words sounded, but he wasn't entirely sure how they sounded stumbling out of his mouth and down his tongue.

Minho squeezed Thomas's knee. "I've got it covered." He stood up then, swaying like a massive tree in an earthquake. Minho always stayed on his feet. Thomas had never once seen him stumble or fall or get knocked to the ground, no matter how many guys came after him on the field. He was a legend.

Minho grabbed a green glass bottle of beer and chugged it as the music morphed into a more beat-heavy song. Thomas watched as the other Gladers jumped up and down in unison, sloshing alcohol everywhere, whooping loud enough to be heard over the eardrum splitting volume.

Eventually Thomas had been sitting and staring too long. He stood, feeling the alcohol sloshing around in his belly along with the pasta and bread he'd gorged down for dinner. As the room spun, he used his three-foot long drink as a crutch until the world settled. Leaving his drink behind, he joined the Gladers, and the mass of other drunken college kids who wouldn't even remember which band was playing when they woke up in the morning.

By the time the Gladers sang and ran and puked their way back to the Caesar Palace, it was well past 1 AM. They were side-eyed by security as they sang their high school theme song but made their way loudly into the elevator without incident. They could only hope Fry could hold onto his alcohol for the trip up to the twelfth floor since there were no trash bins in the elevator.

Minho and Newt had their arms around each other's shoulders, trying to stay steady. Alby and Fry held their stomachs and used the walls to stay halfway upright. Thomas had his forehead pressed against the cool metal of the button panel and Gally was looking the least drunk of them all, resting in a corner, grin plastered across his face as the song dwindled too much to be called a war-cry.

The elevator dinged and Fry's stomach lurched.

"Swear to God if you ralph in here I will kick you in the nuts," Gally said, clapping his hands on Fry's shoulder's and walking him out of the elevator.

The others followed and then fumbled around as they searched for their keys. Three rooms, three keys. Minho found his first and slid the keycard into room 1209, Newt following him in without the need for prodding. Alby opened 1210 and Fry stumbled inside, headed straight for the bathroom. Alby waved a drunk goodnight before closing the door behind him.

Drunk Thomas almost swallowed his tongue when he realized that left him in a room with Gally. He glared daggers at Minho's door; the captain had obviously done this on purpose and Thomas was not gonna let him live this down.

Gally searched his pockets before realizing he didn't have a key and then moved toward Thomas, hands outstretched toward his hips. Thomas backed away.

"Whoa, what're you doing?" His voice cracked. He felt a little like dying.

"You have the key, genius," Gally shook his head, reaching toward him again and shoving his hand in Thomas's back pocket. He pulled out the thin fake-leather wallet and found the fancy keycard. "See?"

Thomas swallowed hard and put his wallet back in his pocket, using a hand against the wall to steady himself as Gally opened the door and flicked on the light.

This was no big deal. He was just sharing a hotel room with Gally. Gally, who he'd been practically in love with since junior year of high school when he dislocated Thomas's shoulder in a lacrosse scrimmage. Some would call that pretty fucked up but Thomas was never a straight shooter.

Gulping down hallway air that smelled like vomit and sex, Thomas inched into the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Gally had found the water pitcher left on the table in the room and was chugging it over the sink in the bathroom, water splashing down against the porcelain, dampening and darkening his green shirt. Gasping for air as he dropped the metal from his mouth, Gally raised his eyebrow questioning at Thomas and filled it again. 

"Drink," he told Thomas, before walking into the room. Thomas shuffled into the bathroom, wincing at the lights and closed the door behind him. He'd seen naked Gally and been naked around Gally more times than he could remember, but the need for drunk Thomas to have a little privacy made him close the door.

He drank the pitcher and pissed for about two minutes straight, splashed water on his face—found it to be a bad idea—and tried not to fall over as the world spun. Once it righted itself, he opened the door and shut off the light.

They were high up in the towering hotel, with the blinds tossed aside because it wasn’t like people’d be peeping into their space from up here. Gally looked like he’d been waiting for Thomas.

Which was weird.

What was weirder was Gally coming at him, grabbing his face and kissing him.

Thomas was pretty sure he was hallucinating so he went with it until the world spun even with his eyes closed and he lurched away, a stumbling mess.

At least he didn’t puke.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Thomas said, though he wasn’t sure if he was pronouncing his T’s. “I think I’m too drunk for this.”

Or this was just some elaborate illusion. Inquiring minds—Thomas’s—wanted to know.

Gally sighed and shook his head, reaching for Thomas’s beltloops but Thomas fell backward on the bed. He bounced a little, both chuckling and groaning, which was an odd mix. As was all of the alcohol in his stomach; liquor and beer and god knows what else.

“I’m definitely too drunk for this,” Thomas slurred out again, wanting nothing more to curl up and wake up to a much more chill reality.

Gally’s hands on his ribs felt nice though.

“C’mon,” Gally insisted.

Nope.

“Let me at least get you off first.”

Thomas almost laughed. Was glad he didn’t, because he probably would have thrown up everywhere. Instead, he was entirely certain this was some drunken daydream and closed his eyes briefly.

So with Thomas already half asleep, Gally sighed and hung his head and pulled off Thomas’s boots and pants and shoved him up the mattress enough to get his head on a pillow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the morning, when Minho knocked on their door, it was Thomas who lurched out of bed to answer, only to throw up in the bathroom instead, and it’s Gally who grimaced and opened the door with one eye open.

Minho looked fresh as a goddamn daisy. “Rough night?”

Gally blinked. “Fuck off, Minho,” he grumbled, which didn’t seem to put down Minho’s cheery mood in the least.

“We’re getting breakfast downstairs,” Minho said. “I’m paying.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gally muttered, closing the door just as Thomas came out of the bathroom, hair wet from shoving his head under the shower faucet.

Shouldering past Thomas, Gally occupied the bathroom, leaving Thomas to get dressed and try to piece together the previous night’s escapades.

Once dressed, he slipped out of the room with the key in his wallet and bumped into Newt in the hallway. Newt was just as much a morning person as Minho, which was infuriating. Thomas’s head was throbbing and his stomach was twisted and he wanted badly to take out his annoyances on Minho.

“You look like shit,” Newt greeted Thomas.

“Aw thanks,” Thomas returned, rubbing his eyes and dragging his feet down the hall. Back in Boston, Newt and Thomas shared an apartment. Newt was probably his closest and oldest friend. Thomas remembered when Newt busted up his knee in senior year and had to sit out the rest of the season and how much it fucked him up. He also remembered when things settled down and Newt and Minho became pretty much inseparable and the closest thing to boyfriends of anyone in their little triage.

“Get much sleep?” Newt had a tiny smirk on his face when they reached the elevator.

What a little shit. He knew too. Thomas shoved him into the elevator and hit the lobby button. “I bet everyone thinks this is the funniest shit, huh?” Thomas grumbled, closing his eyes as his stomach lurched, the elevator heading down.

“You gotta admit,” Newt said with his worn down English accent, “it’s pretty funny.”

“Nothing even happened,” Thomas sighed. “I think.”

“You were pretty drunk.”

“So was everyone.” If anyone in the group should be a lightweight, it should be Newt. He was skinny like a sapling.

Newt just shrugged a shoulder and scooted into a corner as more people piled into the elevator. “We’ll just get the story out of Gally eventually.”

Thomas groaned. “When did we get as gossipy as fucking teenage girls?” He slumped into a corner, hand over his eyes to block out the florescent lights in the ceiling.

Newt clapped a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder,” he said before stepping out into the lobby.

“What does that even fucking mean?” Thomas called out after him, stuck inside the elevator until everyone else squeezed out.

It was morning-ish, and the casino wasn’t as bumping as the previous night, but it wasn’t empty. Machines dinged and pinged and people pulled levers and exclaimed. Thomas pushed his feet forward, in desperate need of coffee.

He spotted Minho’s hair first, standing to let Newt slide into a booth in the restaurant attached to the hotel. Thomas bee lined it for the booth. Everyone was there but Gally.

Fry looked the worst for wear, already milking a Bloody Mary.

Thomas grimaced and grabbed the nearest mug of coffee.

Minho had the gall to grin over the table at Thomas. Full on wattage, swimming in his own smugness. “Have a good night?”

“If there weren’t a couple kids right over there I would punch you so hard right now,” Thomas muttered, sipping the hot coffee and hissing when it burned his tongue.

“Are you still chasing Gally’s tail?” Alby snickered.

“Great. Does everyone know?” Thomas flung his arms out. One hand hit Fry on the shoulder.

“You told all of us last summer,” Fry pointed out.

What.

Thomas didn’t remember that. Granted, he’d been drunk most of the time so he didn’t remember much about that Miami trip. Only that Gally hadn’t been there.

“Fuck,” he groaned, letting his forehead hit the tabletop.

“To be honest, Tommy,” Newt put in, “it was kind of obvious anyway.”

Thomas groaned again, not moving.

“We live together. I think I know you pretty well.”

Thomas’s head snapped up. “Was the room thing your deal then? Did you put Minho up to this?” He glared at them both.

Newt held up his hands in surrender. “I had no part of that.”

“So what happened?” Minho asked, completely avoiding the part of the conversation where he was being targeted as an evil mastermind.

“Nothing,” Thomas said automatically.

“Uh-huh,” Alby said into his coffee.

Newt raised his eyebrows.

Minho frowned as if the answer wasn’t meeting up with something he clearly knew even though there was no way he could know.

Even Fry looked unconvinced.

“I think,” Thomas added carefully.

Newt kicked him under the table.

“I was really drunk. I barely remember getting to the hotel.”

“What do you  _ think _ happened?” Minho was thoroughly enjoying this.

“You know what, why don’t you play matchmaker with someone else?” Thomas huffed throwing himself back against the booth.

“Wait,” Newt said, his gaze sliding over to Minho, who just about read his mind and continued. It was creepy how they did that.

“Did you guys…”

“He kissed me,” Thomas said finally, knowing they weren’t gonna give up until he gave in. He may as well rip the bandaid off and deal with the sting.

Fry whistled. Newt gave a little impressed turtle face.

Minho never knew when to stop. That was pretty much the only reason why he became captain of The Gladers in the first place. “So…he knows you like him then.”

“Fuck off, Minho,” Thomas said, though there was little malice behind it.

Satisfied, Minho chuckled.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After many plates of pancakes and many pots of coffee, they left the restaurant. Gally still hadn’t shown up. Minho went off, leaving the four of them by the entrance to the Caesar Palace. The casino floor was starting to get busier.

“Think you’ll make it through the day?” Newt asked Fry, who still looked worse for wear.

“Don’t let me drink ever again,” he said with a shudder.

Alby’s hand rested on the back of Fry’s neck and he scratched the base of Fry’s skull. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Thomas let out a sigh and ran his hand through his hair—he needed to get it cut—and over his face. Yesterday felt like five days in itself, but it was only Wednesday morning. How were they gonna make it through the next two days?

“Yo,” Minho said appearing at a jog. He had a stack of cash in his hand. Because  _ that _ was normal. “Dad wired me some cash. Don’t waste it all today.” He separated out three hundred dollars to each of them. “Remember, we’re leaving Friday.”

“This is a lot of money, Minho,” Thomas said. It wasn’t like any of them came from the slums or anything. They all came from well-to-do families. How else could they have afforded to all go to high school at a prestigious as fuck boarding school? But still. It felt weird taking money from Minho’s dad.

Did he even know what his son was up to?

“Don’t be so serious, Tommy,” Newt said, bumping Thomas’s shoulder. He pocketed the money Minho brought him.

“MGM?” Fry asked, turning to Alby. “I hear they’ve got lions.”

Alby raised his eyebrows. “Really? Live ones?”

“Think so.”

“Hell yeah!” Alby grabbed Fry’s hand and they bolted to the doors.

Thomas was tempted to go with them, but didn’t want to be a third wheel. Which meant only one thing.

“Italy today, Min?” Newt asked.

“Paris tomorrow?” Minho replied with a grin, throwing his arm around Newt’s shoulders. “You’ll be all right?”

Thomas cleared his throat and waved a hand. “Yeah, man, go, have fun. Don’t get arrested.”

“The fuck would we get arrested for?” Newt called over his shoulder as Minho guided him toward the front doors.

Thomas just shrugged, tossing his arms out to either side.

Once they were gone, he was alone. Well, as alone as someone could be in the middle of a casino steadily filling with more college students on spring break. The doors were right there. He had a couple hundred bucks in his pockets. He could easily walk across the street to the Flamingo and play slots for a few hours.

It would be easy.

But did his feet take him there? Of course fucking not.

“The hell am I doing?” he muttered over and over to himself in the elevator, gritting his teeth every time it came to a halt to let someone in who was going up. It happened three times, which seemed like an awful lot of times for eleven in the morning.

After a momentary panic over the room key, Thomas found it outside of his wallet but in his pocket and carefully walked into the room. It was still a little bit of a mess, but by the looks of things Gally had made their beds. Thomas knew he was always a bit uptight about keeping things tidy in the dorms at school but he’d forgotten and/or thought Gally would have grown out of it.

Nope.

“You good?” Thomas asked, sounding like an absolute clown but being able to do nothing about it.

Gally was fully dressed, sprawled out on his bed. The TV was off. The shades were still open. He had a tablet in front of him, though Thomas couldn’t see the screen.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Gally said, glancing up at Thomas.

Thomas stood awkwardly on the other side of both beds. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the few bills Minho said were for Gally. As if the captain  _ knew _ Thomas would end up back here. One of these days, they were gonna have to test Minho for psychic powers.

“Everyone already ate and they’re off gambling. This is yours.” He walked forward, knowing the few bills would do nothing but make a pathetic trek to the floor at his feet if he tired to throw them. He set them on the large bureau under the TV that neither of them used. Did anyone actually use those things in hotel rooms or did everyone just live out of their suitcases?

“Whose cash is that?” Gally asked, putting his tablet aside. The screen was dark so Thomas couldn’t even peek.

“Minho’s dad,” Thomas said flatly.

Gally wasn’t saying anything about last night. Thomas still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t dreamed the whole thing. He also hated not having answers, which is why he got into computer sciences. There were always answers there: more codes, more mathematics, more structures of ones and zeroes to try.

“So about last night,” he started, which was both a stupid place to start and also the only logical place.

“Yeah?” Gally stood, taking up more space than a normal person. Why the fuck was he so tall?

Thomas backed up without realizing it. “I was super fucked up.”

“Yeah.”

“How…how drunk were you? Just out of curiosity.”

“Not very.” Gally had hints of amusement running all across his face. A curve of the corner of his lips. A soft, warm light blooming behind his eyes.

Aw shit.

“Do you want to try that again?” The words came out slowly and lumbering. This was probably the one chance in a lifetime that Thomas would get. This was Vegas. Crazy shit happened in Vegas all the time. Why not grab life by the horns, right? Or, y’know, by the dick.

Gally was definitely stronger than Thomas, a guy who was all muscle but didn’t look it. He hooked his hand around the back of Thomas’s head and pulled him in like he’d been waiting a thousand years to do it.

Thomas’s blunt nails dragged down Gally’s back, because fuck if he hadn’t been waiting even longer than that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You know,” Newt said, leaning against Minho and tilted his head back, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you set up this whole bloody trip just to get those two knuckleheads together.”

Minho laughed, tightening his fingers around Newt’s. “That was only half the reason,” he mused, his heart thudding hard enough for Newt to feel it through his ribs.

“Yeah? How’d I know that?”

The remains of their second meal of the day lay out on the table. They’d gotten a booth near a window looking out over the tiny stream that gondolas were pushed down by people who wanted the Venice experience without traveling to Europe.

For the first time in a long time, Minho was nervous. So nervous he was sweating and wondering why the fuck he was so nervous.

Using that same psychic link that Thomas always pointed out as being weird as fuck, Newt straightened up and turned so he could see Minho’s face. Which also looked a bit nervous. “What’s up?”

Minho took a deep breath. “You know we’re both graduating in a few months.”

“I am aware,” Newt nodded.

A quirk of a smile appeared on Minho’s face. “I got a job offer right before this trip.”

“Already? Min, that’s brilliant!”

“It involves a lot of traveling,” Minho continued. Now that he started, he couldn’t stop. Newt knew that Minho was going to school to become a translator, and he’d busted his ass learning Japanese and French and Italian before he even graduated high school. He knew English and Korean from his parents. When he graduated in two months, he’d cap off in fluent Russian and Spanish and intermediate in Arabic too. “All around Europe, Asia.”

“Oh,” Newt said, frowning a little.

Before Newt got the wrong idea, that this was them breaking up, Minho lurched forward, grounding Newt with a hand on his leg and his shoulder. “I want you to come with me.”

“With you?” Newt echoed.

“Travel with me. Live with me. I could set up my home base in England.”

“You want me to move in with you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Newt broke out in a grin. “Why didn’t you lead with that, dumbass?” he said before grabbing Minho’s face and kissing him long and hard.

“I thought I’d work up to it,” Minho said sheepishly with a shrug. And then he realized… “Is that a yes or?”

“For a matchmaker, you’re terrible at this.” Another kiss. “Hell yeah, I’ll move in with you.”

Minho sighed with relief. “That would have been awkward if you said no.”

Newt shook his head. “I’d never say no to you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thomas stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, mind blown. Moreso about the Gally part and less so about the hasty sex but that was good too. Seventeen year old him, the one with a major hard on for Gally, so much that he could barely even  _ talk _ to him anymore, was definitely impressed.

“You okay there, Greenie?”

Thomas nearly shoved Gally off the bed for using that nickname. It was born out of Thomas’s inability to stay on his feet during lacrosse back during freshmen year. His uniform was always covered in more grass stains than any one else on the team.

“Fuck if I know,” Thomas said instead.

“How reassuring,” Gally grumbled, sitting up. Thomas’s eyes were drawn to the bullet wound there. Yeah,  _ bullet wound _ . It had been all The Gladers talked about the first summer they came together after freshmen year at college. Gally getting shot on a trip to DC. He made it through with a lung that worked at about sixty-five percent. No more sports for him.

Thomas brushed his fingers over the scar before he bolted to his feet. “I barely know what’s going on most of the time,” Thomas said, which was meant to actually be reassuring but didn’t really do the job. He shrugged and walked to the bathroom.

“Got room for one more?” Gally asked, stopping Thomas from closing the door.

“When’d we go from quick fuck to shower?” Thomas retorted.

Gally raised his eyebrows.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Sorry.” He wasn’t about to explain his love life to Gally, not here, not when things were somewhat going well. Ish.

“It’s cool,” Gally said, raising his hands. “I’ll just uh…go to Newt’s room and use their shower.”

“You’re naked. And covered in cum. And you don’t have a key!”

“I run fast,” Gally said with a shrug.

Thomas shook his head and opened the door more. “Fine. C’mon.”

Drunk sleep was never restful. Thomas was so exhausted he couldn’t have gotten another hard on even if it would have saved his life. The shower was huge—thanks Caesar—and ten minutes later Thomas squirreled away and flicked on the fan on the way out to clear up the fogged mirror.

He methodically pulled on clothes before getting onto Gally’s bed. His was a mess. He sat up against the headboard and grabbed the remote, flicking through channels until he saw the Animal Planet symbol on the bottom of the screen.

Hands twitching for Gally’s tablet, to pry and be a dick and invade Gally’s privacy, Thomas busied himself by flipping the remote around. And trying to wrap his head around him and Gally.

Gally and him.

Thomas and Gally.

Not exactly the kind of match you’d find with the likes of Newt and Minho, but a match nonetheless. Like oil and water, hurricanes and tornadoes.

It wasn’t like this was new territory. Being boys, alone at a boarding school with nothing but other boys, led to shit. Gally and Fry. Newt and Thomas. Thomas and Minho. Minho and Alby. But in the grand scheme of things, what were a few handjobs and BJs between friends, right?

Gally yanked open the bathroom door, making Thomas jump and drop the remote. With a towel wrapped around his waist, Gally joined Thomas in bed.

“Animal planet, really?”

“Fry said there’s live lions at the MGM,” Thomas said. He tried to keep the frown from his face, but he failed because Gally noticed.

“What’s with the face?”

“It’s my face.” He should be on cloud nine, flying high and wondering when he’d come down, hoping he never would. Hell, even his body was on the right track, tingling and hyperaware of Gally’s thigh against his sitting here on a bed. But his mind? His mind was fucking bogged down.

“Whatever.” Gally snatched the remote and opened the TV guide, flipping through channels, never stopping on one.

“Is this some Vegas thing?” Thomas asked finally.

“Huh?”

“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

Gally let out an exasperated breath and turned off the TV.

“I’m serious,” Thomas added.

“You’re always too fucking serious, Greenie.” Gally must be a masterful tuck-er because his towel didn’t even budge when he flipped around and got on top of Thomas, grabbing Thomas’s shirt front, knees digging into the mattress on either side of him.

Thomas didn’t know what to do with his hands. He was useless and left them hanging out on either side of him. “This shit’s important to me.”

Gally smoothed his hands over Thomas’s shirt. “You think I didn’t notice? You’re a terrible liar, and you wear secrets all over your face.”

All right, so maybe everyone at breakfast was right. Kind of mortifying, but they were way past embarrassment now.

“Why didn’t you ever try anything?” Gally asked finally.

Thomas bit down on his lip as he thought. “You’re fucking terrifying most of the time, you know that?”

Gally laughed, taken completely off guard. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Terrifying?”

“And you were with Fry most of the time. Or that dick from that charter school. And then you were at GT and I was in Boston so what was the fucking point?” Thomas finished in a rush.

“The fucking point was about an hour ago.”

Thomas would have shoved Gally off the bed if he were strong enough. “Shut up.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.”

Thomas frowned, Gally’s warm hands against his chest. It felt nice, even through his t-shirt. He circled his fingers around Gally’s wrists. “So why the sudden interest?”

“I missed you.”

The answer shocked Thomas into silence. Soft, warm, heavy silence.

“Last summer, when I was home and my family was a wreck, I knew you all were in Miami and all I wanted to do was fly down there. All I wanted to do was talk to you about my mom making fifteen casseroles no one ate and all of her brothers watching the football game when everyone else was sobbing. I couldn’t get you out of my fucking mind.”

“Oh,” Thomas finally found his voice. “You could have texted.”

“I hate phones.”

“I know.” And he did. Gally was the only one of their bunch that preferred emails over texts, who had a flip-phone, and no Facebook. It made getting in touch with him a bitch.

“So I took my chance here,” Gally finished.

“Just be glad I didn’t puke on you last night.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Thomas chuckled. Gally fit his hand around Thomas’s chin and kissed him before getting to his feet.

“The fuck are we doing? Vegas is right outside our door.” He started pulling on his clothes and yanked Thomas to his feet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Why on earth are you collecting those?” Newt asked, frowning deeply at Fry as he swept down to pluck yet another sex worker’s business card off the sidewalk. It was spring break time and all of the sidewalks on the Strip were plastered with cards featuring naked women with names and numbers and stars and hearts and flowers censoring body parts.

“They’re like baseball cards,” Frypan replied, putting a new card into the pile in his hand. He already had more than a normal deck of cards.

Minho snorted.

“Think of how much virgin freshmen would pay for these,” Fry said.

“The internet exists y’know,” Thomas pointed out. Gally was walking next to him, their arms pressed against each other.

“Yeah but these are collectables.” Fry shrugged his shoulders and put the cards back in his jacket pocket.

They were all dressed as nicely as they could with whatever they found in their suitcases. Thursday night stretched out in front of them and they were finally headed to just about the only reason why Minho chose Vegas to visit: the famous Chippendales.

Vegas was homophobic and didn’t allow smaller shows with just a male audience but it was the twenty-first century and as they got to the medium sized theater, at least a quarter of the audience were dudes.

Not that any of them would have given a fuck anyway. They’d already pregamed pretty hard. They were all the perfect level of drunk to be loose with no inhibitions, but still together enough to remember how to get back to the hotel.

They walked up to their balcony seats and settled in. Gally took a plunge and forced Thomas to hold his hand. When that failed, Gally took it upon himself to pin Thomas’s hand between his palm and his thigh to at least keep their hands together.

“You gonna live in Boston once you graduate?” Gally asked suddenly. The show wasn’t starting yet, though the music beforehand was loud. He leaned in.

“What? I…I guess,” Thomas said, a frown furrowing his brow. “There’s some job openings I’m applying for. I already have an apartment so there’s no reason to move.”

Gally replied with a grunt and didn’t resist when Thomas took his hand away to grab the beer next to him.

The show was as expected: hot guys, music that was too loud, screaming crowds, loads of vodka and beer. Probably not worth sixty bucks a pop, but Minho’s dad was made of money so who gave a fuck anyway?

Thomas was grumpy through the whole thing, and even walked straight past the Bellagio fountains on the way back to Caesar’s Palace. Gally angrily followed while everyone else shoved through crowds to see the streams of water match with lighting and music to create some ethereal shit that Gally actually would have been happy to stay and watch.

Thomas got to the room first, but thankfully Gally’d gotten a second key so he barreled in as Thomas was loosening his tie.

“What the fuck’s your problem tonight?” Gally started out.

Solid start, he thought.

Thomas just sighed and whipped his tie off. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Fine.” Thomas shrugged off his jacket and started unbuttoning his collared shirt. “We leave tomorrow. Newt and I go to Boston, the rest of you go to DC. Then what?”

Gally frowned. “Then we graduate in two months.”

“Yeah. And you know what happens after graduation? Everything changes, right? Who knows the next time we’ll even ever get back together.”

Gally crossed his arms. “Are you talking about The Gladers or about the two of us?”

Thomas pulled off his shirt and threw that aside too before toeing off his shoes and scraping his fingernails through his hair against his scalp. “I don’t fucking know anymore,” he confessed.

He was so fucking turned around he didn’t even know what was up and what was down and where his emotions were coming from or where they were headed.

“Tell me what you want,” Gally said.

Thomas sighed. “You are…a literal dream come true. I don’t know if I can go back to normal shit after this trip.”

“That didn’t answer the question.”

“I want to be able to just say come with me. Fuck school, fuck graduation.”

Gally shook his head and walked closer, taking Thomas’s shoulders in his hands. “It’s two months, Greenie. I think we can handle it.”

“You don’t live in my head.”

“Mine ain’t a cake-walk either.”

“You’re not just fucking with me? This whole time?”

Gally stared at him so intensely Thomas was sure he’d slowed down time just so that he could look a little longer. “Who fucked you up so much that you don’t trust me?”

“It’s a long story,” Thomas said with a clenched jaw.

Gally squeezed Thomas’s shoulders. They got undressed and they slept in the same bed and all they did was sleep and it was fine, even with the tension in the air, Thomas’s disbelief and the hurt that rang out of him like an alarm, warning everyone away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thomas couldn’t make it to the Georgetown commencement. It was the third weekend in May and he had a final project that was gnawing on him and nothing was going right. MIT graduation ceremonies were unseasonably late—at the beginning of June—but Newt left anyway.

Thomas slogged through his remaining weeks. His other roommates, two girls who Thomas was never sure were actually together or just super close, named Teresa and Brenda, did their best to take his mind off of things once a week. They pulled him into Cards Against Humanity with groups of their friends.

He won most of the rounds. It still didn’t help snap his mind out of his funk. Whatever it was, all he wanted was for it to fuck off.

“Hey Thomas,” Teresa said one morning. Newt was supposed to be coming back today. Brenda wasn’t going to MIT, but Theresa was; one of the small percentage of females accepted into the prestigious school. She was smart in a way that even challenged Thomas’s natural intelligence.

“Hey,” Thomas said between loud bites of cereal.

“I know we don’t know each other super well and I’m not even sure if we’d qualify as friends, but…are you okay? I know your final project is coming up soon for presentation but I’ve seen you handle projects before. This is something else, isn’t it?”

Maybe it was female intuition, or Thomas really was terrible at keeping secrets.

“I don’t know what it is,” Thomas said honestly.

Yes he did. He just didn’t want to admit it. He wouldn’t even pick up the phone or send an email because he was a chicken shit and he’d been hurt too badly in the past.

Teresa leaned against the doorframe. “Are you sure? I’m an unbiased party, Thomas. Maybe I can help. Or just talking about it will get it off your mind.”

He thought about it. He thought about Newt and Minho, and how far they’d come. Was it so much that he wanted that too? And with both of them leaving this summer for Europe, Thomas was going to be losing two of his closest friends in the world.

But even that wasn’t at the root of what’s been bothering him.

“You know when you like someone so fucking much, you build them up on this pedestal right? Even if you’re friends, you hold yourself back and just create this untouchable image of them?”

“Been there, done that.”

“Right. And then, years,  _ years _ , later this person decides they like you back and they act on it and you fuck and it’s great and they lay out all this emotional shit and you just fucking…shut down because it’s real and it’s all too much?”

Teresa’s gaze softened a little. “Oh Thomas…”

“I was with someone before. And they really fucked me up. I guess I never got over it, because it stayed with me and made me fuck up this thing I’d been wanting since I was seventeen.” He made a guttural sound of distaste at his own actions and left his cereal bowl in the sink with a clatter. “What am I supposed to do now? How do you fix something like that?”

“First, I’m just gonna suggest maybe you should see a therapist. And if that doesn’t work fast enough for you…have you tried to talking to this person? About all of this?”

Had he? He couldn’t really remember their conversations in Vegas. It was all muddled by alcohol and adrenaline and Gally’s hands all over him.

“Is it as easy as that?” Thomas scoffed.

“No. But it’s worth a shot.” She stepped forward and squeezed his arm. “You never know until you try.”

Sure but trying was harder than she probably realized. He couldn’t even open up a blank email without getting sweaty and shaky.

So he tucked his head down and blasted through his project and bounced ideas off Newt and went through pounds and pounds of coffee until that final day of classes.

And then he drank.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Graduation day came around. Minho had arrived a few days earlier and made sure both Newt and Thomas looked great even though they’d spend most of their days under black robes anyway.

“Sorry I didn’t get to GT,” Thomas said for the fifteenth time since Minho got dropped off at their apartment by a cab.

Minho rolled his eyes and centered Thomas’s tie. “It’s cool man. Gally was disappointed though.”

Thomas’s throat tightened and he ran a finger between his neck and the snug collar of his shirt.

“Hey, Thomas?” Teresa poked her head into his room. Her hair was curled and she was wearing a nice baby blue dress. Brenda appeared over her shoulder, her short hair decorated with a flower crown. “Brenda and I are gonna call for a ride. Did you want me to try to get one for you guys too?”

“No but thanks.”

She smiled and paused. “You look nice.”

“So do you.”

“Did you ever get anywhere with…?”

“No,” Thomas said, shaking his head sharply.

Before leaving, she gave him a sad sort of smile, disappearing with her hand hooked around Brenda’s elbow.

It was hot as balls out and Thomas was too hot to focus on anything else. Minho stuck to Newt’s side like glue as they headed into the chaos that was the ceremony area. Then family was separated from students and Thomas was left standing alone in a sea of people thanks to his and Newt’s last names being far apart.

He squinted into the seated crowd when he hit the stage, but couldn’t make out his parents. He heard them though, doing the typical embarrassing whoops and hollers. Hours moved by as fast as slugs and just when he was sure he’d sweat through his entire outfit, the last speaker wrapped up and everyone stood and clapped and tossed their hats up.

Thomas managed a smile at that.

Newt managed to squeeze into a seat next to him and nudged his elbow, his own grin plastered on his face.

They finally made it. Who would have thought?

Thomas liked his family, surprisingly. He loved his mom who always wore handmade earrings even though she could afford a different pair of diamonds for every day of the week. He and his dad got along well enough, though there had been a rough patch after Thomas told him he was gay, which kind of shattered the perfect family image a CEO like his dad usually built up in his head. He even missed his sister when he was away at school, because they got along only about half the time, but she’d still kill for him and he’d do anything for her too.

Finding them in the crowd was a lot like crowded holiday airports looked in movies when the protagonist was trying to struggle through to find their on screen counterpart. He eventually caught his dad’s eye and they both started waving their hands so there was a reference point to get to.

His sister hugged him first, squeezing so tight that she must have been working out at that gym more often than Thomas had been keeping up with. “You did it, little bro,” she said, stepping back and punching his shoulder.

Before Thomas could even speak, his mom pulled him in for a hug and his dad was snapping pictures. Thomas found himself filled up, thankful for their support, knowing that he had people who would never let him down or stab him in the back.

He somehow caught Minho’s supermodel hair off in the distance, standing with Newt’s family. Thomas wondered how they felt about Newt moving back to the UK, and with a boyfriend no less.

“Are you ready for food?” Thomas’s mom asked, dragging his attention back. “I know it’s too early for dinner but…”

“I’m starving,” Thomas said, which was true. His nerves and anxiety had eaten through his meager cereal and juice breakfast. He hadn’t touched the muffins Brenda made for everyone, though they smelled delicious.

“Okay let’s…” His mom trailed off.

Thomas’s dad nodded to someone behind Thomas. Frowning, Thomas turned around to find no one there that he expected.

“Hey Mr. Jones,” Gally said. The good thing about having grown up with The Gladers was that they already knew everyone’s parents. It made introductions less necessary.

“Gally?” Thomas felt as if someone had just rammed into him hard on the field, knocking the wind out of his lungs. “What’re you doing here?” Instant guilt flooded his system. Gally had come to his graduation and he hadn’t gone to Gally’s. What the fuck kind of friend was he?

“I came to see you.”

Thomas’s family took a collective step back but Thomas ignored them. He ignored everyone else who was meeting family and cramming for photos and making dinner plans. “Why?” he breathed out.

Gally let out a sigh. “I needed to see you, Greenie.” And then he kissed Thomas, right there in the middle of a sea of black robes and crying parents.

They broke apart and Thomas had Gally’s face in his hands and he was close to crying but honestly he didn’t give a shit right now. “Fuck,” he breathed out. “What do we do now?”

Gally shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This started out supposedly as a smut fic yet here we are. 
> 
> I also know that the little Minewt scene probably shouldn’t go here since it was the only one not Thomally based BUT I needed to give them some love after TDC and it’s a fucking fanfic so I do what I want.
> 
> I also have like a whole bunch of other ideas that I almost added to this fic but I decided that I really needed to just stop and let it stand as is. But that doesn't mean that I won't possibly write a super domestic sequel sometime soon. ;)


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